


Beneath His Sandal

by sordes



Series: The Adventures of Ardyn, Prince of Sluts (and the Concubine known as Gilgamesh) [3]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Anal Sex, Foot on dick contact, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Rimming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-22
Updated: 2019-04-22
Packaged: 2020-01-23 18:11:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,766
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18555097
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sordes/pseuds/sordes
Summary: “So let me guess,” Gilgamesh says softly, his voice pitched low. They’re close enough that Gilgamesh is sure Ardyn can smell the wine on his breath and his general musk—it’s not as if he’s been able to bathe regularly locked up like this. “Right now you’re trying to decide if you’re just going to leave and try harder to forget about me, or how you’re going to try and get my pants off.”The battle of the egos continues.





	Beneath His Sandal

**Author's Note:**

> My thanks to [AccursedSpatula](https://archiveofourown.org/users/accursedspatula) for pushing me to finish this. Dinner's on you!

Even the prince’s sense of humor has its limits.

After a week had passed since snooping on Ardyn’s “homecoming party” and refusing to submit to the prince’s demands for an after party, and little else in the way of consequence had happened save the bizarre visit from the troupe come to take a cast of his manhood, Gilgamesh thought he was in the clear. A baffling turn of events, yes, but within the realm of relative believability given Ardyn’s eccentricity. He had resolved to seek the prince out after that, to make amends of sort, or at least ensure the prince didn’t have his execution on the schedule.

Gilgamesh never got that chance. The night after the cast was made Gilgamesh was pulled from bed and hauled away by a pack of guards. He tried resisting—oh did he try—but all that got him was a blow to the ribs and an extra rough burlap sack tossed over his head. The rest of the night was a blur, but Gilgamesh wasn’t left with too many questions when he woke up the next morning and found himself bruised and alone in a dingy cell.

It was apparent that he had certainly overplayed his hand.

Gilgamesh estimates that his whirlwind kidnapping happened a good two weeks ago, give or take a few days. Being locked up in such a confined space, with only a sliver of a window as his only link to the outside world—it’s all too easy to lose track of time.

At first, of course, Gilgamesh tried to escape. For hours on end he probed the walls, door, and slit of a window for any structural weaknesses. He memorized the rotation of the guards posted outside his door—a thick wood beast—the schedule of when they would enter to take his chamber pot or bring him a sad excuse for a meal. But with the guards heavily armed, and Gilgamesh with nothing but the scratchy grey linen prison garb he’d been given and a poor excuse for a wooden spoon, starting something was obviously ill advised.

Clearly the prince was still upset with him. Though Ardyn had seemingly enjoyed their play in the past, their last encounter obviously offended him deeply. If Gilgamesh had truly made him feel that powerless, then what other recourse was there for the proud and haughty prince but to make Gilgamesh feel as powerless in return? As plans of escape grow distant and hopeless in Gilgamesh’s mind, he can only hope that he’s not forgotten about entirely. At least the guards haven’t forgotten him, as his meals are regularly delivered, but the brief interactions with other humans are barely enough to keep Gilgamesh from going stir crazy.

He spends his days curled up on the small bed, pacing the perimeter of the cell, and attempting to look out the small window which, even when using his bed as a stepping stool, is just out of reach to peer out of. It’s maddening, having nothing to occupy him. Gilgamesh feels like a fool for ever finding the harem boring now.

On what Gilgamesh thinks to be the sixteenth night of his captivity, there’s a great commotion in the corridor outside his cell. He perks up from his bed and swings his feet over the edge when he hears the lock click on his door. Whatever this is, it is _not_ routine.

Gilgamesh gets to his feet just as the door opens. He braces himself for the worst—the drag to the gallows or the sting of a sword, but neither comes. Instead, there’s a rather demure looking servant, her hair arranged in an intricate braid that hangs over her shoulder. She steps inside without saying a word and takes a look around, her eyes falling on Gilgamesh last as if he’s no more than the other sad furnishings. She claps her hands twice.

A number of servants stream into the cell, arms laden with all the comforts Gilgamesh had gotten used to having in the harem. Exotic incense, bowls of ripe fruit, amphorae of wine, and sweet smelling oils—even a lacquered table, a foot rest, a basin of water and soft rags for washing. Meticulously they set to tidying and beautifying the cell like a small army of ants, placing their finery here and there. By the time they finish the room is transformed into the most luxurious cell the world’s ever seen.

Gilgamesh just stands back and watches the procession of decorators, not sure what to make of it all but certainly in no place to object. The incense he can do without, but the stack of overstuffed pillows one of the servants carts in? He can practically feel his back sigh in relief.

Once each of the servants’ arms are empty they file out; not a single one makes eye contact with Gilgamesh throughout the entire affair. Just when Gilgamesh thinks it’s over, though, the same demure servant reenters, followed closely behind by two men holding a rather large rug.

“Everything has been arranged to his Majesty’s liking,” the servant says softly, eyes trained on her hands clasped before her waist.

A million quips come to mind, but the servant doesn’t wait for Gilgamesh’s reply. She bows her head, then steps back, gingerly moving over the rug which the other two servants set down. “In exchange for his generosity, his royal Majesty asks for only one thing in return.”

Gilgamesh clears his throat, and his voice comes out scratchy and thin from disuse. “I’m listening…”

“Unfurl the rug immediately.” The servant bows her head again, then backs out of the cell. The door closes once more, and the lock fastens shut. All together the sound is just as lonely as it always is, though now with all the touches of comfort, it doesn’t make Gilgamesh’s stomach drop quite as much.

But as for the prince’s request… unfurl the rug?

“Better not be cobras tucked inside,” Gilgamesh mutters under his breath, opting to uncork one of the amphora of wine before he tests his fate. Better to die somewhat sloshed than sober, after all.

Balancing a too-full cup in one hand, Gilgamesh tries to push the rug to coax it open, finding it difficult to do one handed. He’s beyond questioning the prince’s games now, and a part of him just wants to leave the rug as is and devour the enticing fruit bowl. Well, he _is_ still alive due to the prince’s mercy—and not completely spent sense of humor—so really, doing this is the absolute least Gilgamesh can do.

After taking a healthy sip, Gilgamesh straightens and gives the rug a good, solid kick with his heel, which sends the furled bundle rolling away from him, revealing its elaborate pattern. Hundreds upon thousands of colored threads spin and twirl together to make the detailed mosaic; a product of no doubt many sets of skilled hands.

In a flurry the dizzying pattern is revealed and the rug comes completely unfurled. Waiting inside is not cobras, though, no—it’s something that far exceeds Gilgamesh’s wildest dreams. Instead of pinching himself, to confirm if it really _isn’t_ a hackneyed dream after all, though, he drains his cup, resigned to his fate.

“Come now, is that anyway to greet your prince?”

Ardyn mustn’t really be human, Gilgamesh thinks, for him to look so perfect—every hair in place, not a hint of dishevelment to his blood red robes—reclining on his side at the very end of the rug as if he’d just placed himself there, and not been just previously wrapped up inside of it.

“You could have just used the door. You _do_ own the place, last I checked.”

Ardyn blows a raspberry. “You’re no fun, are you? And did you really have to kick me, just then?”

Gilgamesh can think of many things that indeed are far more fun than breaking into the royal dungeon but thinks better of answering (and acknowledging the kick) and fetches the amphora instead. His throat is suddenly quite dry.

“Poor thing,” Ardyn coos, “to think you were locked up alone here in such squalor.”

“Need I remind you who put me here?”

Ardyn just giggles. “These items certainly are an improvement. We can agree on that much, can’t we?”

Gilgamesh rolls his eyes. “If you missed me that badly, you should have just released me instead of going through all this trouble.”

Ardyn, for once, has no quick comeback. Instead, he looks as if he’s been slapped.

Gilgamesh lets out a little laugh. “Did I hit a nerve?” It’s a small victory, really, but given everything he’s gone through lately, Gilgamesh will gladly take it. He leers down at Ardyn, rather haughtily, despite everything. “You’re too embarrassed to admit it.”

“That’s not true!”

“So you come wrapped up in a rug. Ashamed to be seen, or ashamed because you just can’t forget about me?”

It’s as if all the air is sucked out of the room, leaving a queasy silence and thick tension. Before Gilgamesh can begin to question if he went too far, said too much, Ardyn is on his feet and a sharp _smack_ cuts through the silence. It’s only a beat later when Gilgamesh’s cheek is stinging that he realizes Ardyn slapped him.

Something in Gilgamesh snaps. “What was that for?” he barks, the wine in his cup sloshing about.

“How dare you speak to me in that way!” Ardyn spits back, incensed. “Don’t forget your place here. You are my prisoner, and before that my concubine. You’re nothing more than a worm—a worm I _chose_ not to just step on. An ungrateful worm I gave _every_ opportunity to, only to be returned with—with—” Ardyn’s jabbing his finger into Gilgamesh’s chest, the gold bangles around his wrists clattering together.

“You ignored me for six months!” Gilgamesh shoves Ardyn’s hand away as he throws his cup against the wall, the clay shattering on impact and leaving a grisly wine stain. “You forgot I existed, or did a damn good job of pretending.”

Ardyn doesn’t even flinch. He pushes Gilgamesh back against the wall with a surprising amount of strength and holds him there by the shoulders. “I owe you _nothing_. Not my time, nor an explanation.”

“Then why the hell are you here?” Gilgamesh lets Ardyn hold him there. It isn’t that he can’t break free, but his curiosity over how far Ardyn is willing to go to make his point _(whatever that may be)_ is stronger than his urge to escape. Well, that, and the idea that in all likelihood there are still armed guards posted outside his cell. Wouldn’t do to exacerbate things too much and have Ardyn call in backup.

Ardyn squeezes Gilgamesh’s shoulders hard, then eases off. He looks almost disappointed. “I came here for a bit of fun, which you so quickly ruined.”

Gilgamesh cocks an eyebrow at that. “Are you entertaining fantasies of a prison break now? Is there a pair of horses waiting just outside? Or, did you just came to gloat?”

Ardyn lets go and backs off. He takes a moment to breathe, smoothing out his robes and hair. Only when he’s calm does he speak again, turning on the balls of his feet to face Gilgamesh. “You’ve spoiled everything, you know.”

“So call in the guards. Cart me off to the executioner.”

“Do you really want to die that badly, Gilgamesh? Is being my captive that unbearable for you?”

Gilgamesh rolls his eyes. “Go back to the harem, fuck any of your concubines there, do whatever the hell it is you want. Just leave me alone.”

Ardyn digs in his heels. “I will do no such thing.”

“Then you shouldn’t have ignored me, or locked me up.” Gilgamesh shrugs, as if it’s that simple. To him, at least, it is.

“I will not leave until I get what I came for.”

Gilgamesh barks out a laugh. “I should’ve known. It’s always about sex with you, isn’t it?”

Ardyn doesn’t exactly raise any objection to this, so Gilgamesh barrels on.

“You might as well call in the guards, then, because I hate to break it to you, but that’s the _last_ thing I want right now. But that’s no fun for you, is it?”

Ardyn’s lips are reduced to a fine line, his jaw and brows set. Seeing as he’s yet to refute Gilgamesh’s words, Gilgamesh continues.

“You like to think of yourself as a conqueror, don’t you? Subjugating one object of your affections at a time, adding them to your collection. But that’s a lie and you know it. Poor, bored men allow you to take them in, pamper and feed them, and they take their turns, fucking you when the time comes. But their hearts aren’t in it, it’s just a job for them. You know that, deep down. Don’t you?”

Ardyn just stares back at him, eyes like daggers.

“And then along comes me.” Gilgamesh finally moves away from the wall and closes the gap between them. “I don't obey. I push you, I challenge you, I don't say what you want to hear. And you hate that, sure. But what really rankles you is the fact that you like it.”

Gilgamesh isn’t sure if Ardyn’s going to deck him or kiss him, but he’s tensed up for either, trying to get a read on the prince before him. It isn’t like him, to go so silent, but it’s easy enough to see the rage simmering just underneath the surface. Just how Ardyn will let it out—if he will at all—is a mystery.

“So let me guess,” Gilgamesh says softly, his voice pitched low. They’re close enough that Gilgamesh is sure Ardyn can smell the wine on his breath and his general _musk_ —it’s not as if he’s been able to bathe regularly locked up like this. “Right now you’re trying to decide if you’re just going to leave and try harder to forget about me, or how you’re going to try and get my pants off. Both are gonna be hard, but if it makes your decision any easier, the second one is pretty much impossible at this point.”

Ardyn inhales sharply through his nose, hands curled into fists at his sides, and dives into it as fierce and sudden as a thunderclap. “Of all the arrogant, self-absorbed, pigheaded things I’ve ever heard—you give yourself far, _far_ too much credit. You amuse me, that much is obvious. But do you think you’re really that important to me? I have an army of men who would fight to the death for one night with me. You don’t hold a candle in comparison.”

“ _Sure._ You know as well as I that you’re more of your stable’s landlord at this point. Just happens that you take alternative methods of payment.”

“How dare—”

“But me?” Gilgamesh presses forward, forcing Ardyn to retreat until his back is up against the cell wall. “That first night together? I wanted you. And that was something new, something you hadn’t felt in so long that you forgot what it was like.”

For once Ardyn doesn’t return his gaze. He shifts uncomfortably, the gauzy material of his robes catching on the unfinished wall, caged in by Gilgamesh’s body.

“You want me to desire you again. To feel like you did. Deep down you know— _that’s_ what real conquest is.”

Despite all of Gilgamesh’s talk, all his rejection of Ardyn’s advances, he can’t deny that he’s _a little_ excited now, given the heated nature of their encounter. The prince looks vulnerable for once, a touch of heat rising up from his chest to his neck and jaw. Gilgamesh knows that giving into his baser impulses now would just be giving Ardyn what he wants. He knows that he should just back off, let Ardyn leave with his tail between his legs, and be done with it.

But Gilgamesh never claimed to be a very smart man.

Gilgamesh leans in as he turns Ardyn’s face to him. Their noses brush together, Gilgamesh can feel the prince’s breath on his cheek. Ardyn’s eyes are open as Gilgamesh lets his close. Their lips touch, Ardyn’s soft, Gilgamesh’s a bit chapped. Gilgamesh seals the deal, pressing his lips to Ardyn’s in, all things considered, a rather tame kiss.

The kiss lasts for a few seconds before Gilgamesh opens his eyes. Ardyn just stares back at him, pliant, but certainly not melting. Gilgamesh pulls back, regretting everything.

Ardyn’s lips curl into a smile. “And you say you don’t want me.”

Gilgamesh just shakes his head as he pulls back further. “Think of it as a parting gift. Something to remember me by.”

Ardyn grabs his arms before he can get too far. “If even a shred of what you said about me is true, then it’s only fair that you admit your own weakness for me, too.”

Ardyn’s lips are back on Gilgamesh’s before he has a moment to refute that entirely asinine _(and maybe partly true)_ idea. The kiss is heated and passionate, completely different from Gilgamesh’s ‘parting gift,’ something underscored by the way Ardyn’s hands are running over his body, pawing at his chest over his threadbare tunic.

As much as Gilgamesh wants to break free, to assert once and for all that he wants nothing to do with Ardyn, in the heat of the moment his mind is wandering to other things he’d also like to do. It’s a battle of mind versus dick, an unfair one, really, given how much time Gilgamesh has had to think and think and think during his imprisonment, and how little action he’s gotten.

With Gilgamesh offering little in resistance, Ardyn pushes back, moving them away from the wall. He rakes his fingers through Gilgamesh’s mane and tugs down roughly, forcing Gilgamesh’s head back. Gilgamesh lets out a little grunt of surprise, thrown slightly off balance, and before he can course correct Ardyn is twisting his wrist and forcing him to his knees.

“You want me and I’ll prove it to you,” Ardyn says, lips nearly as red as his robes.

Gilgamesh stares up at him, breath labored and uncomfortably aroused. “I’ll tell you right now. You’re wrong.”

“Why can’t you just be honest with yourself? How many times have you touched yourself, thinking of me? How many times did you wish for me to choose you in the harem?” Ardyn crosses his arms, gaining steam with each question, and suddenly Gilgamesh feels rather small before him. “You might’ve left me that night weeks ago, but we both know you were barely keeping it together. And something tells me you won’t be able to keep it together now.”

Gilgamesh swallows hard, his heart beating in his ears and his palms slick with sweat. He feels like an open book, all that guile of his gone and hard-won higher ground ceded. Ardyn never ceases to amaze in just how quickly he can turn the tables and gain the upper hand—all while leaving Gilgamesh nothing if not exhilarated.

“I’m waiting for your answer, Gilgamesh.”

There’s no sense in lying, not when his arousal is so clearly evident. But pride keeps Gilgamesh from telling the entire truth. “You’ve had me locked up for weeks. Dragging a physical reaction from me doesn’t mean anything.”

Ardyn dismisses this by rolling his eyes. “The words of a desperate man.” He brings a sandaled foot to Gilgamesh’s knee. “Be honest with yourself. There’s no sense in lying now.”

For the life of him, Gilgamesh focuses on the dull pain in his knees and shins to keep himself from thinking too hard on how close he is to just giving in. That, and the fact that he’s steadily growing more exhilarated than annoyed.

“You’re enjoying this already. The game of cat and mouse.” Ardyn hums appreciatively and twists lightly, the airy fabric of his robes brushing against Gilgamesh’s knees. As always, the prince smells amazing in that enigmatic way—a fragrance so fine Gilgamesh hasn’t the words to describe just what it is, but he’s convinced it cost a small king’s ransom to acquire. “Look at me, Gilgamesh.”

Gilgamesh’s hands are curled into loose fists at his sides, his cheeks heated under the scrutiny. It’s only when Ardyn gives the command for him to look him in the eyes does Gilgamesh truly realize how far he’s let himself slip into this submissive role. Being a man of stature himself, Gilgamesh never really forgot that Ardyn himself is quite tall. Here and now, on his knees in subjugation, though, he _really_ feels just how tall Ardyn is, having to crane his neck back to meet his gaze.

“The fact that you haven’t just gotten to your feet and forced me out of this cell says everything, Gilgamesh.” Ardyn lifts some of his weight from Gilgamesh’s thigh to emphasize this. “I’m not holding you here, with me, against your will. You go on and on about your freedom and independence, but it’s clearly all talk.”

Gilgamesh knows the prince is right. He isn’t bound in place, no one has a sword to his throat. Yes, there is the nebulous threat of continued imprisonment or execution floating over him, and the knowledge that any sentence of corporal punishment is soundly in Ardyn’s hands, but it’s a threat Ardyn has yet to make. It’s at this point, too, that Gilgamesh finds his trousers are a tad too tight for comfort in his position. It isn’t easy to readjust, even slightly, to alleviate some of the discomfort, especially with Ardyn staring down at him so intently.

It also doesn’t take long for Ardyn to catch on to Gilgamesh’s fidgeting, and he hums, pleased at the sight. “You don’t need to say a word, Gilgamesh, when your body’s an open book. Spread your legs. Show me.”

“It doesn’t mean anything,” Gilgamesh mutters under his breath; an idea he’s trying to convince himself of more than anything. He makes a flustered little sound in the back of his throat and ultimately obeys.

Ardyn clicks his tongue. “And this is why you should just be honest with yourself and me.”

Gilgamesh is too slow to stop the little scoff at his words, and the next thing he knows Ardyn’s sandaled foot is on his cock, pressing down with just a bit too much pressure to be completely pleasurable.

“After everything you’ve said tonight, do you think you deserve to have this taken care of?” Ardyn’s looking down at him through half-lidded eyes, assessing. “Go on, answer.”

Gilgamesh isn’t quite sure how to respond. He hadn’t anticipated how a few weeks locked up would affect his brain and his tongue _(and his cock)_. The sudden attention, despite his injured pride, proves to be overwhelming already.

“Gilgamesh.” Ardyn applies a touch more pressure with his foot, earning a gasp.

Though Gilgamesh believes in his heart that the answer to Ardyn’s question is a resounding ‘yes,’ even in this compromised state he knows Ardyn probably doesn’t want to hear that. Cheeks hot, he chokes a “no.”

“No…?” A _hair_ more pressure.

“No, _your Majesty_.”

Ardyn raises his foot, mercifully, and returns it to Gilgamesh’s thigh. “He speaks _and_ he knows his place. Kemsit was adamant you wouldn’t learn, you know.” He reaches down and pulls up his robes, exposing the sandal ties around his ankle and his smooth calf. “But I had faith in you still. Go on, then. Untie it.”

If this is a test, Gilgamesh is about to pass with flying colors or fail miserably. Either way, there’s really nothing else to do but obey, so, hands shaking, Gilgamesh pulls the leather ties loose. They come free with little difficulty, Gilgamesh’s thick fingers helping to pull them away from Ardyn’s slender ankle. In short order Gilgamesh pulls the soft leather sole away, Ardyn lifting his foot to assist, and discards the sandal to the side.

Ardyn points his toes experimentally, then relaxes. He returns his foot to Gilgamesh’s thigh—all his heat and softness now perfectly tangible without the sandal—then slides it higher. “Much better, wouldn’t you agree?”

Gilgamesh winces, though not in pain, as Ardyn’s foot settles over his straining cock. It dawns on Gilgamesh now that Ardyn’s feet are just about the only part of him he’s yet to really get to know, but at the rate things are going, he doesn’t think it will remain that way for long.

“I asked you a question, Gilgamesh.”

“It’s definitely better. Your Majesty,” he adds belatedly.

“‘ _Definitely better,’_ he says. You’ll have to elaborate.” Ardyn rubs his foot up and down slowly, a feat he manages while balancing perfectly on one foot, arms crossed in front of his chest.

Ardyn’s words are somewhat lost on Gilgamesh’s ears. His eyes fall shut as he focuses on Ardyn’s touch, soft and warm and _oh so welcome_ after his time in seclusion. Until it isn’t. Ardyn’s caresses transform into a pinpointed pressure, trading his soft soles for the hardness of his heel.

“Elaborate. And be sure to look me in the eye, Gilgamesh. I do love your eyes, remember.”

Gilgamesh tightens his fists at his side, takes a sharp breath in through his nose, and opens his eyes. _Focus._ “It felt nice.” He doesn’t entirely succeed in masking the annoyance in his voice.

“Felt?”

“Your,” Gilgamesh winces, “ _royal_ heel. Could you lighten up a bit?”

Ardyn cocks an eyebrow.

“Please?” Gilgamesh adds half-heartedly.

The prince gasps in mock shock. “I had _no_ idea.” He shifts his foot, lightening the pressure, and returns to that light and easy press of his sole. “How does it feel now?”

Gilgamesh lets out a little moan despite himself, caught off guard. “Better.” He can’t help but try and grind into Ardyn’s touch, though it’s impossible to really try and mask his intentions.

“I have to say, I’m feeling like quite the conqueror right now,” Ardyn chuckles.

Exhaling sharply through his nose, Gilgamesh stills his hips. “How can you take pleasure in something like this when everything’s blatantly stacked in your favor?”

“Oh, easily.” Humming softly, Ardyn pulls his foot back. He gathers his robes, exposing his other ankle. “Take it off.”

The other sandal comes off as quickly as the first, Gilgamesh discarding it to the side with its mate. Gilgamesh hangs back on his haunches after, unsure of what to do next. He’s feeling rather exposed, despite not taking off a single garment of his own, the bulge in his pants doing little to hide just how aroused he’s become.

Ardyn’s hands settle on the knot holding the sash around his waist in place. It isn’t tied too tightly, so a few gentle pulls later it’s nearly undone, allowing his robe to fall open and expose his bare chest. It’s just as smooth and pale as Gilgamesh remembers it being, that same definition to his collar bones and the faint outline of his ribs. Ardyn stops just short of completely undoing the knot, and instead holds out the loose ties. “This too.”

Gilgamesh does the rest of the work in pulling the knot free, and lets the sash cascade into a puddle around Ardyn’s bare feet. Without the sash to hold everything in place, the blood red robe is now bisected by a slash of Ardyn’s skin, interrupted only by a small (very well groomed) patch of red pubic hair. Although the hair gives Gilgamesh some surprise, he’s relieved to see Ardyn’s cock has changed little in their time apart, and it dawns on him at both how sad and ridiculous it is that he feels that way.

“Thought I’d try something different,” Ardyn says, no doubt in regards to the new decor. “Do you like it?”

In truth, the sight of Ardyn _without_ anything down there was entirely more shocking than the current display, but Gilgamesh nods “yes” regardless.

“Thought you would. Would you like to touch?”

Gilgamesh hesitates, but ultimately nods “yes” again.

“Why so silent all of the sudden? I’m not one to hold a grudge, you know. As long as you admit you were wrong.”

“I’m not wrong,” Gilgamesh insists, finding his voice again.

Ardyn exhales sharply. “Fine. Have it your way, for now. Hurry up and use that impudent mouth of yours for something better than annoying me.”

As enticing as the order is, Gilgamesh doesn’t budge. The small part of his brain still capable of thinking rationally thankfully steps in. “Why should I? What do I get in return for indulging you?”

“Fine—you want to go back to the harem?” Ardyn sways his hips a little, and Gilgamesh finds it’s hard to maintain eye contact. “Do a good job and I’ll put you back where you belong.”

All things considered, captivity in the fancy, open air harem is better than captivity in the dark underbelly of the palace. “It’s a deal.”

A catlike smile spreads across Ardyn’s face as he lets his robes slip down off his shoulders to join the sash on the floor. He shakes out his hair lightly, sending some longer tresses over his shoulder, and for a moment he embodies all that raw, idealized beauty that the multitude of sculptures and statues throughout the palace attempt to recreate. Then, he sees the trail of red love bites meandering across Ardyn’s hip and down into his groin.

Gilgamesh makes no attempt to hide his surprise at the marks and Ardyn just shrugs. “Life goes on even when you aren’t around. Shocking, I know.”

Instead of snapping back with something rude (and ill-advised), Gilgamesh sets his jaw. “I feel bad for the guy. Look how hard he had to work, and it still wasn’t good enough.”

Ardyn just chuckles and turns around, exposing his backside. “Then you’ll just have to do better and finally put that tongue of yours to work. He didn’t need his hands to leave those marks, so I trust you won’t either.”

The trail of red marks leads over Ardyn’s hip and one buttock, then dips out of sight…

Gilgamesh swallows hard. He’s certainly not opposed to the act, especially given their deal, and despite their antagonism, in the moment Gilgamesh does have to give the prince credit for always managing to keep him on his toes.

Running his tongue over his lips, Gilgamesh finds them unusually dry. Ardyn does the minor courtesy of bending over slightly to give him better access, and in doing so reveals just where the trail of love bites ends. As degrading as this all is, Gilgamesh would be lying if he said he wasn’t even a little excited about his work before him, and deep down, he even feels a sting of possessiveness.

With little else to do but prove himself, that queasy feeling of jealousy and stupid pride swirling in his gut, Gilgamesh leans in, pink tongue poking between his lips. He makes a few exploratory licks, the tip of his tongue tracing the tight ring of muscle. Seeing Ardyn tense up for a beat at the intrusion, then relax as Gilgamesh switches to using his flattened tongue to lave over his hole in long passes sets a little fire in his belly.

Gilgamesh gains more confidence with every swipe and swirl of his tongue. As Ardyn relaxes, he even manages to probe his tongue inside, which earns him a choice gasp from the prince. Ardyn arches his back and tosses his head back, those long red locks of his cascading over his shoulders, and Gilgamesh really appears to be doing something right, as he reaches back and holds his cheeks open without shame, one hand on each globe. Although Ardyn is masterful in controlling his vocalizations, he can’t so easily mask the way his thighs quiver and knees shake as Gilgamesh licks him.

It takes a good amount of self-control to keep his hands at his sides and not pawing at his or Ardyn’s cock. Gilgamesh perseveres, however, focusing his attention on his tongue and lips, tracing Ardyn’s hole, licking fat stripes over it again and again.

In time even Ardyn’s control seems to be tested, his fingers slipping on his ass, some of the sweetest moans Gilgamesh has ever heard escaping his lips. The beads of precome dripping from Ardyn’s cock, landing squarely on the carpet beneath him, also, are a very good indication of Gilgamesh’s performance. It all also has Gilgamesh’s pants not only uncomfortably tight, but now disturbingly wet.

Gilgamesh wants to ask if he can touch Ardyn’s cock—this balls at the least. They’re so close, pink and drawn in tight to Ardyn’s body. Perhaps, just a stray flick of the tongue, and…

“Gilgamesh.” Ardyn stops him with the sharp use of his name.

Gilgamesh freezes, the tip of his tongue guiltily having slipped from Ardyn’s hole. He doesn’t understand _why_ he shouldn’t be allowed to sneak a lick—except for the constraints of this stupid game Ardyn’s drawn him into. Ardyn’s hole certainly is soft and ready to fuck, so why not spread his attentions elsewhere?

In one swift motion Ardyn has a fistful of Gilgamesh’s hair and is yanking his head back. Ardyn twists to look down at Gilgamesh, cheeks flushed and eyes cold. “That isn’t where the trail ends.”

Gilgamesh winces at the tug on his scalp, but turned on and impatient, he decides to risk it. “We both know you’re ready for more.”

Ardyn twists his wrist, forcing Gilgamesh’s head back further. “There it is—that awful rebellious streak of yours.”

Still, there’s a twinkle of something mischievous in the prince’s eyes. Just as quickly as he seized Gilgamesh’s hair he lets it go and turns round to face Gilgamesh. “Why are you still dressed? Take it off, all of it.”

Gilgamesh doesn’t waste a second. Shucking his tunic over his head, Gilgamesh simultaneously flops back onto his ass—more accident than anything, his feet having fallen completely asleep after kneeling for so long—to wriggle out of his trousers. It’s a bit of an awkward negotiation, trying to get his trousers off, what with how hard he is, but if Ardyn’s smile is any indication, it’s a struggle worth having.

The fact that Ardyn is straddling him before Gilgamesh can even clear his trousers from his ankles is a good sign, too.

Gilgamesh lets out a little gasp in surprise, which transforms into low groan when Ardyn’s cock rubs against his. It’s a jolt of delicious friction, heat, and slick, something Gilgamesh’s hand can’t replicate; something he’s missed more than he’d like to admit. Before Gilgamesh can move to rearrange their bodies, to truly seal the deal, though, Ardyn gathers his arms and brings them up above Gilgamesh’s head, holding them in place at the wrists.

“You’re not to move your arms.” Ardyn presses his weight onto Gilgamesh’s wrists for emphasis. “Am I understood?”

Gilgamesh nods slowly.

Satisfied, Ardyn lets go of Gilgamesh’s wrists and runs his fingertips down his arms, rakes his blunt nails down his chest. Gilgamesh shudders at the contact, and while he does a fine job of keeping his arms in place, cheekily he grinds his hips up into Ardyn.

“You’re incorrigible, you know that?” Ardyn scolds, his hands now on Gilgamesh’s waist.

“As if you’re one to talk.”

Ardyn _tsks_ in response, but doesn’t offer a rebuttal. He brings a finger to his lips and rubs his lower lip. “Spread your thighs.” Ardyn situates himself on his knees to allow Gilgamesh to comply, something that’s easily done despite his ankles still being tangled in his trousers.

“Good boy.”

Gilgamesh ignores the patronizing tone of Ardyn’s voice. His attention is split between Ardyn slipping his finger into his mouth to suck on it and his own cock dripping where it lays on his stomach. He curls and uncurls his hands into loose fists above his head, finding the urge to disobey Ardyn’s orders is very, _very_ strong.

Ardyn slips his finger from his mouth and it between them, through frustratingly neglects touching Gilgamesh’s cock. Instead, he swipes that same finger through the little pool of precome on Gilgamesh’s stomach. “I already know I’ve won this round. Though you won’t admit it yourself, it’s obvious just how badly you want me. _Really want_ me.”

At this point, Gilgamesh is over arguing about the whole subject and rolls his eyes.

“So that’s why I’ve decided,” Ardyn coos as his hand drops beneath them and out of sight. “By the time we’re through I’ll have you singing my name.”

Gilgamesh isn’t quite sure how to reply to this as not a beat later Ardyn is rubbing a slow circle around _his_ hole—a relatively new sensation that catches him off guard entirely. His mouth hangs open as his brain tries to catch up, Ardyn smiling down at him all the while.

“You’ll like this,” he says with confidence befitting a king.

Now Gilgamesh isn’t exactly _inexperienced_ when it comes to these matters, but it isn’t exactly a position he feels completely comfortable with. For what it’s worth, though, Ardyn rubs him with a patient determination that has him melting in no time, his thighs falling slack and breath ragged.

Before long, Ardyn is able to slip a single finger inside, causing Gilgamesh to clench up around him. It’s a foreign sensation, definitely, and not totally unwanted… or not unwanted in the least now, if Gilgamesh is completely honest with himself. Ardyn leans down at some point and begins to worry his own meandering trail (or perhaps ‘collar’ is the better word) of love bites across Gilgamesh's neck, biting and sucking as he sees fit.

In just a short while it’s nearly impossible for Gilgamesh to stay still. Cock twitching on his stomach, the muscles in his thighs caught in a cycle of tensing and relaxing on their own, his arms simultaneously feeling like immovable blocks of lead and like a thousand tingly sparks are shooting up and down them—needing to move, to grab Ardyn and force him to beyond this slow pace.

Ardyn pulls back enough to look Gilgamesh in the eye, his lips red from his work. “You want more?”

Gilgamesh swallows thickly, nods.

“Use your words.”

Gilgamesh shuts his eyes in defeat. “Yes.” He opens them to find Ardyn looking at him, brow cocked expectantly. “Your Majesty,” he adds belatedly.

Satisfied, Ardyn nods and gets to his feet. He fetches the scented oil one of the servants brought in earlier then returns, pulling Gilgamesh’s trousers free from his ankles at last, finally settling between Gilgamesh’s legs. “Arms asleep?” he asks as he uncorks the bottle.

They are—that dull, tingly sensation having set in a while ago—but Gilgamesh wiggles his fingers regardless, testing them out. “They are, your Majesty.” His voice almost doesn’t sound like his own. Thick, raspy—far too relaxed to possibly belong to someone in such a state of captivity.

Ardyn pours some of the oil on his fingers, then directly on his cock standing at attention between his legs. “Shouldn’t need to bind them, then.” His lips quirk into a smile as he re-corks the bottle and sets it aside. “Now tell me how badly you want me to fuck you.”

It’s an odd notion, having Gilgamesh’s own game turned back on him, to be put in Ardyn’s position, every sense twisted by animal instinct. By now all other notions of maintaining his pride and dignity are forgotten and the only thing that matters is getting off and getting off _now._

Gilgamesh wets his lips, then tries to answer. He knows, deep down in that part of his brain that’s still coherent, that Ardyn would love nothing more than to drag this out, to have him turn into a ball of mush, sobbing for his cock. In the interest of time, Gilgamesh tries what he hopes to be the quickest path to what both parties want, and speaks the words as slowly as he can so as not to stumble over his tongue. “Ardyn. I _need_ this.” He swallows, unconvinced by his own delivery. “I need _you._ ”

Ardyn takes in a breath and looks as if he’s about to say something, but doesn’t. His eyes drop to between them and he swirls his oil coated finger around Gilgamesh’s hole as if to give himself time to think. “Not quite ‘singing,’ but I’ll get you there yet,” he finally mumbles as he takes hold of Gilgamesh’s hips and pulls him closer, then pushes down on Gilgamesh’s inner thighs.

With that same level of patience, Ardyn works himself inside, Gilgamesh sucking in a sharp lungful of air at the significantly larger intrusion. Never did he think he’d find himself in such a position with Ardyn, complete with his stomach aflutter with tingles, and yet here he is.

Just when Gilgamesh begins to relax, his body accepting the slow push of Ardyn’s cock, Ardyn snaps his hips up sharply, hilting himself. Gilgamesh lets out a cross between a groan and a sharp gasp, his own cock jolting on his stomach.

“Close,” Ardyn says, shaking his head. “But not quite.”

Whether through osmosis or simply sheer experience, being used by beauties from the world over, it’s clear that Ardyn’s learned more than a thing or two from his escapades. He seems to know exactly what Gilgamesh’s body desires before his body even knows it; when to unleash a near merciless series of thrusts, when to slow, when to grind and how to angle his hips to rub Gilgamesh in _just_ the right way. It really isn’t fair, Gilgamesh thinks to himself dimly, and he can’t help but wonder if Ardyn ever critiqued his performance—or lifted one or two of his ‘techniques.’

A sharp smack to Gilgamesh’s thigh keeps him from drifting too far into his own head.

“Stay with me,” Ardyn rasps.

At least he doesn’t ask (read: demand) Gilgamesh to answer.

After a few more sharp thrusts, Ardyn pulls out completely and grabs Gilgamesh’s leg, forcing him to roll onto his stomach. Dazed, Gilgamesh has no real ability to resist or aid in his body being rearranged, as the next thing he knows Ardyn is pushing that same leg up, bending his knee, and pressing back into his hole. Instinctually, almost, Gilgamesh arches his back, jutting his ass up to better meet Ardyn’s thrusts, and lets his head fall down, hair obscuring his face from Ardyn. At least in this position, there’s really no way around Gilgamesh curling his heavy arms in to brace himself against the floor, and Ardyn allows it.

Ardyn grabs Gilgamesh’s hair and pulls his head back hard. He claims Gilgamesh’s mouth then, his kiss sloppy and hard. Gilgamesh can do little but groan into the Ardyn’s mouth, overwhelmed and aching and hot, his cock straining and trapped beneath him.

Even when the kiss breaks, Ardyn’s hold on Gilgamesh’s hair remains tight. He shifts his attentions to Gilgamesh’s shoulder, and continues his work of biting and sucking, peppering love bites on every inch of skin available to him.

“I don’t think I can—” Gilgamesh’s words come out slurred, like each one was dipped in honey.

“Oh, but you can,” Ardyn growls into his skin. “And you will.”

Ardyn grabs Gilgamesh by the hips and hauls him up back on his knees as he, too, straightens. Gilgamesh’s arms hold him up for a good thirty seconds or so before they give out and he crumples in a heap. Soothingly, almost, Ardyn smooths his hands up and down Gilgamesh’s sweat-dotted back, then gives his ass a quick, sharp smack to keep him on his toes, pounding away all the while.

The edges of Gilgamesh's mind go hazy and white—were his brain working properly, he’d probably think that he’s unable to last much longer. Ardyn’s hands are scalding hot on his hips, making retreat impossible. Not that Gilgamesh is capable of considering the thought. By now all he can do is take Ardyn’s cock.

Gilgamesh is close, even without directly stimulating his cock. The short hairs on the back of his neck stand on end, and he knows Ardyn can feel the shudders that work their way up and down his spine, how his muscles involuntarily clench and relax around Ardyn.

Ardyn hilts himself with a dull _slap_ of his thighs hitting Gilgamesh, then grinds up slowly. He leans down and plants an affectionate kiss on Gilgamesh’s shoulder, then brushes some of Gilgamesh’s hair out of his face. “Close?”

Gilgamesh just nods, eyes squeezed shut.

“You want to come?”

Gilgamesh nods again. He feels as if he’s _this_ close to toppling over the edge, and is content just to let Ardyn take him there. Ardyn, on the other hand...

Pulling Gilgamesh by the hips with him, Ardyn sinks down onto his knees. Gilgamesh is forced to follow, pulled upright, his folded legs caging Ardyn’s. Ardyn leans in, his voice deep and coy.  “Go on. You want to finish this? Then finish it. Ride my cock, Gilgamesh. Show me how bad you want this.”

Shambling, sweaty mess that he is, Gilgamesh would have vastly preferred for Ardyn to finish things. Seeing as that isn’t an option, Gilgamesh has little to do but take things into his own hands. Bracing himself on his knees, Gilgamesh sucks in a breath and raises himself up, then drops himself down. It’s harder than it looks—fucking himself—and before long the burn of exertion rips through his thighs and core. But it’s _good_ , somehow better than before, now that Gilgamesh is able to see his heavy cock bobbing between his legs and how it drools freely.

“Good boy. Keep going.” Ardyn lavishes Gilgamesh with words of encouragement, his own breathing growing raspy and irregular.

Gilgamesh doesn’t have the mental clarity to really process Ardyn’s words, however; keeping himself moving is more than enough. The hot tangle of nerves in Gilgamesh’s stomach slowly unfurls itself, the tendrils of tingling pleasure branching out through his legs and arms, still dull and heavy with sleep. It all happens so fast—and with aid from the prince himself.

Without warning, Ardyn pulls Gilgamesh down hard and flush against him, and Gilgamesh can feel his hot finish filling him. The maneuver earns a sharp yelp from Gilgamesh— _a yelp that sounds suspiciously like the prince’s name_ —and altogether it’s enough to bring Gilgamesh over the line, too, a series of hot spurts of come shooting from his cock. Gilgamesh’s hands slip from his knees but he catches himself before he can fall face first to the ground. Ardyn holds him tightly at the waist until he empties every last bit of himself, after which he lets go and gives Gilgamesh’s rear a light slap.

“Feel better?”

When Gilgamesh doesn’t immediately respond, Ardyn takes the initiative and scoots back, pulling his softening cock free. A few droplets of his finish fall from Gilgamesh’s hole, and Ardyn leaves him to his own wobbly devices, not unlike a newborn foal. Kindly, he does prevent Gilgamesh from flopping over onto the ground, instead helping him collapse on the plush carpet.

Dimly, Gilgamesh is aware of Ardyn moving around his cell, cleaning himself off and pouring himself a drink. He’s saying something, talking to himself, but Gilgamesh isn’t quite at the point where he can make sense of it. Every muscle in Gilgamesh’s body is completely relaxed and he thinks he could sleep for days.

But of course, Ardyn won’t let him have that.

“Don’t fall asleep on me, Gilgamesh,” he says, gently slapping Gilgamesh’s cheek. “You haven’t even heard my decision yet.”

_Decision?_ Gilgamesh thinks to himself. _Oh, the harem._ It’s hard to care about something that in the moment feels so distant and intangible.

Gilgamesh manages to crack open an eye and roll from his side onto his back. Ardyn is fully dressed, back in his blood red robe, his hair perfect in that tousled way it always is. He’s crouched at Gilgamesh’s side, a healthy flush across his cheeks.

“Well? How do you think you did?”

Thoroughly filthy, a sweaty and sticky mess, Gilgamesh just shrugs. “Good?”

Ardyn just reaches over and taps his nose. “And that’s precisely what I like about you.” Rising to his feet, Ardyn moves to take another sip from his glass of wine. “Clean yourself up, Gilgamesh. You flatter me, of course, but no concubine of mine should be lying about in such a state. It’s vulgar, to be frank.”

Some old saying about the pot calling the kettle black drifts into Gilgamesh’s head, but before he can say anything Ardyn is at the door. He knocks twice, two quick raps, and the door unlocks. Ardyn exits with nary a look back, the cell door closing behind him and locking with a final click: a death knell to Gilgamesh's ears.

Alone again, Gilgamesh just shuts his eyes. Clean up can wait—regaining his decency can wait. After all, time is something Gilgamesh has no shortage of.

\---

Hours—days—later, Gilgamesh has no idea, he awakes in a start. It’s dark all around him, and he’s confined—bound? He can’t move. It’s hot, stifling, the bindings tight on his chest and arms.

Gilgamesh begins to panic. Did the prince have him buried alive? Tied up and tossed into the river? He struggles against his confines, fruitless as it may be, desperate for escape. Though his throat is dry, Gilgamesh shouts for freedom or help or out of frustration, completely disoriented.

And then—there’s a pressure to his side and he begins to roll. Each time he rolls his bindings grow looser and light begins to pour in at his feet and above his head. Air, too, reaches him and he takes a few deep breaths before finally being freed and—realizes he was rolled up snugly in none other than the plush carpet Ardyn brought with him to his cell, the very same one the prince came rolled up in.

“So good of you to—” Ardyn’s voice reaches Gilgamesh’s ears, followed by a scandalized cry. “You’re still filthy.”

Blinking, it’s clear now that Gilgamesh is back in the harem, soft diluted sunlight pouring over the pristine marble, a gentle breeze blowing through the palm fronds and exotic flowers.

“I am,” Gilgamesh says lamely, his throat dry and brain still trying desperately to catch up. He knows he must look a fool, though, sprawled out nude on the carpet, dazed and confused.

“Well, you _did_.” Ardyn rolls his eyes and crosses his arms across his chest. He’s wearing a brilliant blue robe now, a lovely contrast to his auburn hair, Gilgamesh thinks, though he has no way to really articulate it in the moment. “Kemsit,” he calls, and on cue his body slave appears, looking similarly scandalized at the scene awaiting her.

“Your Majesty…” she starts, but Ardyn stops her with the dismissive wave of a hand.

“I know, he doesn’t deserve my forgiveness. Get him cleaned up and dressed and whatnot.” He moves to leave, to head to the arms of another awaiting concubine perhaps, then stops. “Something that shows off his neck will do.”

Though Gilgamesh can’t really detect the collar of love bites Ardyn gave him in the dungeon, he has no doubt they’re bright red by now. Though Ardyn means to further the game of punishment with said collar, the whole idea is rather tame now in comparison to the terror of being trapped in the carpet just a short time ago. Just how Ardyn managed to do the same while maintaining his wits is beyond him—and further proof that the prince really is a force to be reckoned with.

Before Ardyn departs, though, he kneels down by Gilgamesh’s side and pitches his voice low. “I won and don’t you forget it.” He doesn’t wait for a reply and is gone from the scene a beat later, robe swirling in his wake.

As much as the idea of defeat rankles Gilgamesh, at least—he hopes—that in “losing” Ardyn won’t play so hard to get. Though knowing him, there’s really no telling where their relationship will go from here.

“Can you stand?” Kemsit asks, now crouching at Gilgamesh’s side. She’s pinching her nose at his smell, clearly unhappy at his return.

“Maybe,” Gilgamesh croaks.

“It’s stand or I get some men to roll you back up and deposit you in the bath.” Kemsit straightens, her mouth curling into a somewhat amused smile. “Your choice.”

Gilgamesh doesn’t need to be told twice.


End file.
